Fancy Seeing You Here
by Eat Love Write
Summary: Derek and Stiles meet up in the woods, near the woods, or in places with wood. Same thing. Or, the One Where Stiles Helps Derek Get His Life Together


Despite what Scott or Stiles or his pack may think, Derek isn't ashamed of where he lives. He's not ashamed of the blackened out husk of his family home. It's still home to him. It may hurt to even look at, may make him feel like his alpha powers are being drained, but he'll never be ashamed of it. His role in the fire, in making the house so lifeless, well that's another story. Kate Argent winking at him across the high school swimming pool features in his nightmares just as often as the actual fire. Derek can never decide what's worse, the heat from the fire or the heat Kate Argent used to send through him.

So, Derek lives in his family's house when he can. Maybe to punish himself, maybe just because he knows for certain that this one place is his territory. Even if the Hunters used it as a base for a while, (Derek could smell the Argent girl, the scent always all over Scott, and her father) it was still essentially Derek's. Scott had insisted Allison wasn't trained as a Hunter. The boy was too trusting. It would get him killed.

Not too trusting, Derek's head taunts. He didn't trust you, did he Derek?

And if that hadn't hurt like hell.

Scott wasn't too bad. He was obnoxious sure, always thinking about lacrosse and Allison before anything else, but that was just teenagers. Derek may not have presented the most welcoming front anyway, with his permanent scowl and leather jacket, but he had just lost his sister, his pack. Scott wasn't all that welcoming either, what with the arrest warrants.

And okay, after he killed his uncle, his last family and his alpha, Derek should have known better. But Scott was angry at him for killing Peter. He wanted to do it himself, on the hope that it would cure him. Like lycanthropy was a type of disease. If Derek was honest with himself, he didn't even want to try with someone like Scott. Didn't the kid realize that if he wasn't 'cured' he'd be an alpha? Scott couldn't handle being a regular werewolf, never mind an alpha one. Derek had done him a favor, saved the kid a few nightmares. But then Derek, Derek who was never supposed to be alpha, was feeling the rush of power. At the next full moon, he lost control of his wolf for the first time he could remember. It was one thing to know that you had a beast inside you, another thing entirely to not be able to control it.

Derek did the only thing he could. He made himself a pack, created his own anchor. He found three kids he thought needed it. Through the alpha power haze he still managed to lay it out for them, the pros and cons. All three consented. And yet Derek still has only the tatters of a real pack. He has the numbers but not the bond.

Derek was never meant to be an alpha. He doesn't know what he's doing. Scott is still on the outside, despite the fact that Derek thought he was winning him over. (Winning him over only to be betrayed.) Peter is back from the dead, lurking around, giving off the vibes of the tamed insane. Derek doesn't see him as family. Peter destroyed that right when he ripped out Laura's throat.

Derek has Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, sure, but they aren't truly pack. He won't make them like him, but is a little respect too much to ask? Instead Erica and Boyd tried to leave and Isaac spends more time with Scott than Derek. Erica and Boyd came back quiet; they walk around like ghosts with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Isaac still occasionally comes for group training sessions but none of three are really there.  
Jackson, too, is indecisive. He doesn't acknowledge Derek as his alpha yet, keeps trying to prove he doesn't need a pack, but he doesn't hang with Scott's make-shift pack either. Lydia does, and Jackson sticks with her, but Derek knows that other werewolves can't be part of a pack without a legitimate alpha. Scott's pack is hardly a functional unit.

Derek has no qualms about welcoming humans into the fold. The Hale pack was three quarters wolf, but the human quarter was not respected any less. Derek's dad had been human, and while some more traditional packs were iffy about human mates, his father had been the second highest ranked member of the pack, under only their mother.

No, Derek has no problem with human pack members. He'd love to have Lydia as a part of his pack, even if Derek isn't convinced she's entirely human. She's got brains and bravery underneath the petty popular girl act, and Derek knows she's valuable. Stiles is Scott's best friend, and Derek knows that the jittery human won't go anywhere without him, but he would be perhaps the best addition to the pack. The kid has will, and a knack for research. He may never shut up, but for every useless word he throws out to fill the silence there's an equally important one. He's loyal to a fault, sticking by his friend even when he turned into a werewolf, and that says something. Stiles dances that thin line between brave and stupid, if he and Derek's few interactions are anything to go by, but he manages to get the job done every time.

The kid's strong, not many people could hold a sodden deadweight of a person for a few hours in a swimming pool. And well, if Derek wants to dance his own line, between pedophile and platonic admirer, Stiles is rather attractive. From that revealing feel up Derek inadvertently got when Stiles was paralyzed on top of him, he's well built too.

But, well, Derek has found himself thinking about him way too much. Not in a romantic way, but in a curious way. Something about him is niggling at the back of Derek's mind. That night when it all went down, only a few weeks ago, Derek heard something lost in all the confusion. A slight uptick in a heart beat. Scott asked Stiles what happened. It was in passing though, because Scott had been more concerned with Allison, and the werewolf had missed Stiles' obvious lie. The kid had said he'd been cornered by some of the other team members (lacrosse of course, when wasn't it lacrosse?) and they'd given him a bit if a beating. Nothing too bad, Stiles had assured Scott, and Derek, even as he talked with Jackson and squared off with Mr. Argent, subconsciously noted it for future study. Stiles was hiding something and Derek was curious.

But it's been a few weeks now, and Derek isn't that much of a stalker no matter what his pack says. He's left it well alone. Derek hasn't even seen Stiles since that night, which he can't help but find odd. The kid used to seek him out regularly, for werewolf problems and general supernatural facts. But since the night everything went down, not a peep. Derek tells himself that this doesn't matter, not considering all the loss he's gone through in his life. What's one ADHD kid on top of everything? Nothing that's what.

Stiles Stilinski has nothing to do with the reason he can't sleep.

But since Derek is awake, and has no chance of sleeping, he might as well do something.

Border patrol may be paranoid, but as Derek untangles himself from his sheet, he acknowledges that paranoia is probably the only reason he's still alive.

Derek rolls off his mattress and to his feet in one graceful motion. Tugging on a pair of jeans, Derek contemplates the necessity of a shirt. He feels better when he has one on, but the last time he had needlessly ruined a shirt on brambles and thorns from an impromptu run. (Derek ignores the sad fact that there was a last time and that there will inevitably be a next time)

Derek grabs one of the few shirts he brought with him from New York that doesn't smell like Laura and tugs it on. Any that do retain even the slightest scent of his sister, including her old clothes, are piled near Derek's pillow. If Laura was alive to see how far Derek has sunk, she'd laugh at him and call him a sap. Sometimes Derek thinks the Stilinski kid is far too like his sister for comfort.

A long sleeve black shirt that hangs baggy off his shoulders is Derek's best option. The loose fabric reminds him of just how much weight he's lost since coming back to Beacon Hills. Laura would be too busy mothering and hovering over him in concern to mock him. It's been hard to swallow anything when Derek can feel Laura's absence like a punch to the stomach every time he so much as thinks of food. She would be so disappointed.

Derek shakes his head to banish his thoughts as he steps out into the night. A deep breath clears the overpowering scent of ash and death from his nostrils. Derek hates how used to he smell he's become. Taking off into the night at a slow jog, Derek forces his mind into silence. Focusing his eyes only on his feet, Derek uses his other senses to guide his way around his territory. Perhaps that's why Derek doesn't notice he's caught a scent until he's almost on top of it. At least he catches up with his wolf before it does anything stupid, like attack first ask questions later. Or, as Derek really scents the air and lets his brain process the scent and identify it, mate first and ask questions later. That's the other thing about Stiles. For some reason, his scent draws Derek in like a bee to honey. Stiles smells like medicine constantly, like that Adderall he takes, but it doesn't turn Derek off like most medication scents. Underneath Stiles smells like teenage boy musk, and, inexplicably, sunshine. He smells like dark chocolate and a romp in the woods. For some reason, the boy that Derek enjoys a mutual hate-save-life relationship with smells like home.

It's disconcerting to say the least. Because even at some point in the night that is both too early and too late, as soon as Derek catches wind of the boy a tension in his shoulders that he wasn't even aware of releases.

Okay, so perhaps Derek was exaggerating when he said he didn't miss Stiles at all. His wolf howled everyday he wasn't around the kid.

Without Derek's permission, his legs walk him closer. He at least has enough presence of mind to keep his footsteps near silent. No need to terrify the teen.

As Derek draws closer, he realizes that Stiles may not have even noticed if a herd of elephants stampeded five feet away from him. The boy doesn't even seem to know where he is.

Stiles looks as if he hasn't slept in a week. Under his eyes are dark circles so complete that even Derek has to sympathize. The red scratch on his face that the kid claims was from the other lacrosse team has faded to nothing, but even the way that Stiles leans against the tree says that he's still uncomfortable and in pain. Derek's wolf growls at that. Derek has to hold back his own growl.

Stiles himself is pale in what little the moonlight shows of his face. His eyes, focused in the ground in front of him, are blank. Derek feels the stirrings of unease flutter in his stomach. Stiles shivers in the beginning of spring chill and Derek's mind is made up. He steps out from the shadows, making as much noise as possible. He was right, but for once that doesn't please Derek. Stiles doesn't so much as twitch.

Derek walks as close to the kid as he dares, and when he still gets no reaction, reaches out a hand to shake Stiles' shoulder. The flinch is so exaggerated that it should be funny. Except for the fear and pain that flashes across Stiles' face as he curls into himself. His hands come up to bracket his face, and his spine is stiff in anticipation. It only reinforces Derek's suspicion that Stiles is hiding something. It also drops a heavy stone of bitterness down Derek's throat. As much as he postures, he hates that stench if fear rolling off Stiles. It makes him feel dirty.

"Stiles." Derek says as gently as he can. "It's Derek. I'm not going to hurt you." The stench of fear fades to the sharp twang of embarrassment. Derek can smell the tension seeping out of the teen, but Stiles makes no move to uncover his face. Derek sighs.

As gently as he can, Derek grabs Stiles' shoulder once more. This time there is no flinch. More tender than anyone in Beacon Hills would ever believe him to be capable of, Derek pulls Stiles back into a sitting position. He gives the boy a second when he hears the near silent hiss of pain. Judging by when it happened, Stiles has one hell of a bruise on his ribs. When he seems to have settled, Derek pries Stiles' hands away from his face. The dark circles under his eyes are in sharp relief now that Derek is so close. Something in him aches for the boy.

Dark brown eyes regard Derek suspiciously. Derek can't blame him. Their last reaction probably involved the werewolf throwing the teenager against something. Derek wouldn't dream of it now. It's not just the moonlight that makes a Stiles look delicate and fragile.

"Are you going to kill me?" Stiles asks. For a moment, Derek is thrown. Then he scowls.

"No."

"Because you have this whole growly thing going on, and approaching lonely teenagers in the woods is really serial killer style dude. Also, if I screamed I don't think anyone could hear me because. Woods." Stiles takes a deep breath. "And really you've threatened me for less than appearing on your property so-"

"I'm not going to kill you Stiles." Derek says very slowly and clearly. It may be a bit of a growl, but sue him. Derek keeps forgetting how... Stiles, Stiles can be.

"Oh, then why was it necessary to give me a heart attack? Not cool dude." Now that he's talking and confident that he's not about to massacred, Stiles seems a bit more comfortable in his skin. He isn't looking as fragile or pale, though the dark circles aren't going anywhere anytime soon, and Derek's wolf wags its tail in delight.

"Don't call me dude." Derek says. "And you're the one on my property. I was only doing border patrol."

"I'm sorry dude, was this private property?" For the last two words, Stiles' voice drops an octave and his eyebrows begin doing some impossible acrobatics. Derek can't help his snort. He slides down the tree trunk he was leaning on and sits beside Stiles, who is busy staring at him in shock.

"I'm sorry, was that a laugh? Did Sourwolf, happiness-is-a-disease-with-no-cure, I-eat-puppies-for-breakfast Hale just laugh?" Stiles pauses as if something just occurred to him. "Wait wouldn't eating puppies for breakfast be cannibalism? Are you a cannibal dude? That's not cool."

Derek glares at him. He purposefully flashes his eyes red and bares his teeth. Derek isn't sure if it's gratifying or annoying that Stiles doesn't even flinch.

"Enough. Stiles, why are you here?" Stiles looks down at the ground and his smirk disappears

"Couldn't sleep. Decided to go for a walk." Stiles shoots his own glare at Derek. "That's not a crime!"

Derek is unimpressed.

"After everything that's gone on the past year, do you really think walking around the woods at night is a good idea?" Derek feels slightly guilty when Stiles flinches. The teen says nothing and doesn't look up from his intense study of the pine needles. Derek decides to ask the question that's been bugging him since that Night. "Stiles, how did you really get those bruises?"

Derek feels Stiles stiffen beside him. His hand twitches with the urge to place a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"I- the other lacrosse team? They, um, they-" Stiles' voice is wavering and shaking. Derek can hear his heart beating irregularly. The lie is about as obvious as it can be.

"Stiles." Derek means it to come out gruff and impatient. It instead sounds almost encouraging and ten miles too tender. Derek hears Stiles let out a sigh. But he doesn't clam up at least.

"I was- Gerard-" Stiles' heart beat is still too fast, but it doesn't skip a beat. Derek hates that this means that he's telling the truth. Fire lances through his veins, and Derek sees red. His wolf howls in rage. It's only by digging his now transformed claws into his hand that Derek can refrain from doing something stupid. Like paying a witch to revive Gerard so Derek can ever so slowly eviscerate him. Can make him suffer for hurting Stiles. For making that too sweet scent stink of fear and exhaustion and pain. Stiles seems to be oblivious to the war going on between Derek and his wolf, and the story comes out of him in starts and stops.

Stiles tells of the lacrosse game, the high of winning. He tells of seeing Gerard in the sidelines, of feeling a terrifying anticipation the entire game. Next comes Jackson's fall, and then Gerard grabbing him. Stiles tells the next part in a whisper. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek can see Stiles' fists clenched in his lap. Stiles tells of the basement, of Boyd and Erica strung up with electricity running through them that prevented transformation and healing. Derek gets a new respect for his Betas, for why they flinch every time a light switch or anything electric turns on. Derek does too, since the incident with Kate and the taser, but none of his pack has ever noticed. But Boyd and Erica are obvious in their flinch. It was another thing Derek observed but didn't comment on. His pack already didn't like him, why encourage their hatred.

Then Stiles tells of Gerard. Of how Stiles had taunted him because he couldn't help himself. He tells of how Gerard proved he was still more than nimble. Stiles skims over the time he was there in broad stroking sweeps. He mentions how angry and furious Erica and Boyd had been when Gerard kept hitting him. Stiles is tight with tension when he mumbles that Gerard had him bite on a belt so he wouldn't scream and alert Allison. Allison who slept up in her bed, unaware of the human suffering in her basement, but perfectly clear on the fact that there were two other teenagers crying out in pain. Derek digs his claws farther into his hand forcing his breathing to go deep and slow. Picturing Stiles hunched over and hurting, being hurt, tints Derek's vision uncomfortably red. Picturing the girl Scott is so enamored with watching him suffer stirs a bloodlust in Derek. Contempt is all he can muster up for Scott.

Thin fingers wrap around Derek's wrist. A whiff of Stiles' scent reveals... Concern? Of course Stiles would be concerned about him as he tells the story of his own torture at the hands of his best friend's girlfriend's grandfather. It's times like these that Derek wonders how much easier and different things would have been if Stiles had been bitten that night, not Scott.

"Hey Sourwolf, you still with me?" Seduced by the sound of the teen's voice, his wolf quiets. Derek's vision slips back into normal colors. "Oh thank God. No offense dude, but I really don't think I could handle you wolfing out right now."

"None taken." Derek manages. The hand on his wrist drops away at his strangled tone. It shouldn't feel cold, but it does.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it. He realized he wasn't getting anything out of me a few hours later and just let me go. Granddaddy was very nice about it all. Dropped me off in my driveway and everything." From where Derek is sitting along with his new proximity to Stiles, the shudder is obvious. Really, Derek has never had the urge to be this tactile before. At least, not since Laura. Hell, really since before the fire.

"And now you can't sleep."

Derek can feel the heat of Stiles' blush. He curses internally. He didn't mean to embarrass the kid, nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of.

"I. I see his face, and the basement, every time I close my eyes. And I can't-" Stiles doesn't even try to deny it. Derek hates that he has nightmares. Hates that he can never protect anybody from anything. Even a single human man (not a man, not really, Gerard was more a monster than Derek ever could be) still beat Derek.

"That's the reason I'm out here too." The words escape Derek without his permission. They sluice into the awkward silence that had descended around the two, and Derek feels himself stiffen. Stiles stinks of surprise. He supposed it's warranted, seeing as most of the things he's said to Stiles have been monosyllabic and forced out of him. But now that's Derek has started, he can't just stop. "I mean, I couldn't sleep either. When I can't sleep I usually do a run around my territory, try to wear myself down."

"Are you," Stiles takes a tentative breath. "Do you still live in your old house?" Derek releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Yes." The indignation is bright and sudden.

"What the hell Derek? I understand why it's important to you dude, I do, but really? Didn't you ever consider buying an apartment like a normal person? Wereperson." The hair on the back of Derek's neck raises at the beseeching look Stiles shoots him. Derek can't muster up any of his own indignation at Stiles' tone. Partly because he wonders himself why he doesn't just move. Mostly because he's just so tired. His next words come unbidden too.

"I dream of the fire every night. Being in the house doesn't help I'm sure," Derek can now smell the sympathy coming off Stiles in waves. For once, someone else's pity doesn't just piss him off. "But I've had the nightmares almost every night since the fire, so."

"I know you've probably heard it a lot, I mean, I only lost my mom and I got sick of all the apologies, but I feel like I should still say it." Stiles takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry for your loss Derek. Everyone seems to have forgotten what an all around terrible life you've had so far. But yeah. You may have made some pretty shitty choices, but everyone deserves a second chance and I think you deserve more than just one as retribution from the universe." Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. "So um yeah. I said that."

Derek can't help the small smile he gives. Stiles must not be looking at the werewolf, because Derek can all too easily imagine the fit he'd throw if he saw Derek's actual, genuine smile.

"Thank you." Derek says, voice rough and a bit raw.

Derek still hasn't built up the courage to meet Stiles' eyes, but he can sense the teen's smile.

Derek isn't sure how long they sit there in silence, but then again, he isn't sure when they first got out there anyway. Stiles is silent for once. He's shared so much tonight, things Derek is sure he hasn't told anyone else, including Scott. Derek can't help but feel content at the thought that someone trusts him. It's enough to keep him quiet. Not that Derek was ever one for all that much talking.

It's only when Stiles starts to shiver in earnest, hard enough that Derek himself almost quivers with the reverberations, that Derek breaks the silence.

"Stiles."

"Y-yes?" The chattering of teeth is almost comical.

"Go home." Instantly, Derek can smell the hurt wafting off the boy. Seriously, can he get nothing right? Derek uses the tree to lever himself to his feet. If he's stiff and sore from sitting on the ground, he can only imagine what Stiles is feeling. Instead of responding to the boy's hurt verbally, he just reaches out a hand. When Stiles grasps it, Derek tugs him to his feet. In the moonlight, Derek can see the moment where Stiles' knees almost give out from exhaustion. Derek steadies him with a warm hand to his waist. "Get some sleep Stiles. It'll do you good."

Derek can tell the teen is exhausted because Stiles doesn't even offer up a token protest. He just nods.

"Alright." A brief light of awareness flickers back into Stiles. He looks at Derek soberly. "Thank you for tonight." Stiles turns to go. "You should get some sleep too you know. A little birdie told me that werewolves aren't invincible." And then the teen disappears back into the tree line. Derek could almost convince himself that the human was never there.

If Derek follows Stiles until the teenager is tucked safely back into his bed, no one will ever know. And, well, if Derek goes home and sleeps a solid eight hours, his longest since Laura's death, it certainly wasn't because he ran into Stiles in the woods. That would be ridiculous.

It becomes a routine.

Derek never planned on making a friend here in Beacon Hills, never thought he'd find someone he trusted. But alas, Stiles is hard to plan for.

They don't meet up in the woods every night. Not even every other. But sometimes Derek won't be able to sleep, and he'll go out and catch Stiles' scent. Other times, the teen will walk out to the Hale house and knock quietly on the siding. Each time this happens they stay together, talking, until both are worn out enough to consider sleeping.

Since that first night, Derek hasn't brought up anything sensitive, and Stiles has paid him the same courtesy. They don't spend the night in silence. Instead, the two talk of everything else under the sun. Mostly they talk of the future.

Stiles tells how he wants to go away to school, doesn't think he could stand being cooped up in Beacon Hills Community College. Something in Derek aches at that, but then Stiles continues on about how he doesn't want to go too far either. Stiles elaborates on that, points out Berkeley, and Derek heaves a sigh of relief. Stiles wants to double major in Mythology and Criminal Justice, wants to come back to Beacon Hills and be a cop. Derek smiles at him, and while the kid is obviously still getting used to Derek doing anything nonviolent, he smiles back.

Somehow they got around to Derek, and he tells Stiles about how he finished high school in New York, and then went to NYU. Stiles asks what he studied, and Derek tells him about how he was working on getting his Masters in English. Derek confesses how much he loves to write, and then Stiles has tricked him into giving away his writing pseudonym. The next time they meet, Stiles spends the entire time blathering on about his book, and how there should be a sequel. Derek goes to library and prints out his finished first draft for Stiles to read. The time they meet after that, Stiles blathers on about how Derek should send this to his editor. And how the story should really be a trilogy. When Derek sends the draft off to his editor, he dedicates it to Stiles. He knows the teen will be pleased when it's finally on the shelves.

Derek tells Stiles about his life in New York. Laura had bought the deed to a store, and was planning in transforming it into a bakery. Derek talks about what a mean double chocolate cake Laura could make and laughs when Stiles wipes drool off the corner of his mouth. Weeks after they've started this odd nighttime ritual, Derek tells Stiles that he and Laura would have gotten along wonderfully. Stiles doesn't offer any cheap words. He tells Derek that his mother probably would have thought of Derek like a second son. They switch topics pretty quickly after that.

It's Stiles that talks Derek into remodeling the Hale house. It's Stiles who drives out at ridiculous times of the morning when Derek is torn over the positioning of something or paint colors. By the time summer rolls around, things are well under way and Stiles drives out every day just to hang.

Derek never asks where Scott is. Isaac stops even coming to training.

One day, early on in the summer, Derek rounds up Erica and Boyd and brings them with him to the construction site. Even if he's already too late for Isaac to ever like him, he can still try with Erica and Boyd. They need someone.

They're reluctant at first, but Derek is determined, and they follow him. Derek calls Stiles to bring two extra coffees and muffins.

When the teen shows up, he looks momentarily thrown to see Erica and Boyd. But then his eyes soften, particularly at Derek, and he hands out the coffees and pastries, and just starts talking. Erica and Boyd slowly unwind, and Erica starts up a good natured argument with Stiles over some comic (manga Derek, it's manga not a comic) Derek has never heard of. Even Boyd throws in a comment or two. When Derek starts laughing at something Boyd snarks, Erica stops mid sentence to stare. Stiles chuckles and says he did the same thing the first time he heard the Great Derek Hale laugh. Derek rolls his eyes and watches as his betas relax completely.

Boyd and Erica come back the next day, and the one after that. Already, they look happier, smile more. Derek guesses that Stiles just has that effect on everyone.

They stop being afraid around Derek too, and that more than anything makes Derek happy. A warm ball of contentment unfolds in Derek's stomach and never seems to go away. It engulfs him entirely when he reveals that he's a writer and Erica throws her arms around him. Apparently, he wrote her favorite book but where is the second one? Erica is startled when she realizes that she just spontaneously hugged Derek and starts to pull away. Derek knows he's made the right choice of hugging her back when Erica starts talking to him instead of just Stiles.

By the time June is over, Derek has a pack again. This time it's one he trusts.

July rolls in, hot and humid. Derek has been sleeping in his Camaro while the house is redone, but the car turns into a sauna at night. As a result, Derek is out looking for Stiles more than usual. It's hard to sleep regardless, never mind when the heat is an ever so prominent reminder of the fire.

It's a night like every other, Derek is just giving up on rest and rolling out of his car when he hears it. Or, more accurately, him.

It's Stiles, Derek can tell from his heart beat, even as elevated as it is right now. In fact, the teen's heart is racing, in a way that can only mean he's either terrified or running. A roar echoes through the preserve, and Stiles' heart beat races closer. Now Derek can hear the boy's feet pounding the pine needles, along with the footsteps of something bigger and scarier. Seriously, what has Stiles managed to get himself caught up in now?

Derek ignores the fact that he's on the brink of transformation. And at just the thought of Stiles being in danger. What type of poor besotted fool is he becoming?

As an effective way of jerking Derek from his thoughts, Stiles crashes through the trees bordering the Hale house. On his heels is... Something. It's big and warty and a murky brown color. If Derek didn't know better, he'd say...

"A troll!" Stiles huffs as he runs towards Derek. He's moving faster than Derek would have thought the human could. And somehow, someway, the kid is still managing to talk. Derek has never been more impressed. "Why the hell didn't you tell me trolls were a thing? Trolls Derek! Trolls!" Stiles is almost within arm reach now anyway. And then he makes a valid point. "You should probably run now. Unless you want to be troll food?"

Derek starts to run.

They've been running side by side for a while, a few minutes at least, when Derek asks the very important question.

"How exactly do we kill a troll?"

Stiles still manages a very dignified snort, and really Derek will spend time obsessing over Stiles' stamina later, when they aren't running for their lives.

"I was hoping you'd tell me that." And well, things really have been going too well for Derek.

Stiles and Derek do eventually figure out a way to kill the troll.

It involves a lot of creative maneuvering, and pure luck. Also, way too much running. By the time Derek and Stiles are climbing out of the pond, sopping wet and tired, the sun is peeking out over the trees. A troll floats in the pond behind them. Stiles stumbles standing still, probably from exhaustion, and Derek makes a mental note to come back for the body later. Ignoring the expanse of wet slick skin beneath his hand, Derek wraps an arm around Stiles' waist. The kid leans into him, and Derek does his best to not inhale too obviously. There's the smell of pond and wet and sweat but overall it's just Stiles. Derek will deny to his last breath that he's become addicted to the scent.

"We totally just killed a troll." Stiles slaps a hand on Derek's shoulder. He almost hits the werewolf in the face, but Derek will forgive him just this once. "Dude! We killed a troll all by ourselves! Take that supernatural beings! We own you!" Stiles nearly falls on his face with the proclamation and victorious flailing, but Derek just nods fondly. He's feeling a little wobbly on his feet himself.

They stumble into the clearing surrounding the Hale house sometime after construction has started for the morning. The contractors have the go ahead whether Derek is there to greet them or not. Erica and Boyd are lounging by the front of the Camaro, clearly wondering where Derek and Stiles are. The second they stumble out of the woods, Erica and Boyd are there, hovering.

"Derek, Stiles! What the hell-" Erica starts.

"Trolls, Erica. Trolls." Stiles leans half of his weight off Derek and onto the female werewolf. The teen doesn't release his grip on Derek's tee shirt though, so Derek doesn't feel too bereft.

"Why are you all wet then?" Ah yes, Boyd. Always the voice of reason.

Derek doesn't realize that he's spoken aloud until Stiles starts laughing at him.

"It feels great to not be the only one with a brain to mouth filter shot to hell. Is that how you make a grumpy werewolf talk? Exhaust him and throw him in a pond?" Derek flashes red eyes and fangs at Stiles. The teen laughs and leans his weight back entirely onto Derek. In retaliation, Derek pinches his side. The squeal is priceless. Erica and Boyd chuckle.

"We were chased by a troll, and then we killed it." Derek elaborates helpfully. He really is feeling sort of woozy. Derek wonders when he last slept with all the heat.

"I'm going to go back to my house and sleep the rest of the day." Stiles announces, as if he has any chance of making it home without assistance. Derek wishes more than anything that he had a house to go back and sleep in. Right now, a mattress sounds like heaven.

"I'll walk him home." Derek offers, adjusting his grip on the teen's waist. Stiles shoots him a sleepy smile. Derek knows he must reek of affection and fondness. At least his betas like him enough now not to say anything.

"Or, since you have a car, you could I don't know, drive him home? Away from all the trolls and scary woodland creatures." Erica points out. Never mind, Derek hates his betas. He scowls at Erica as he pulls his car keys out of his pocket. Stiles steals the keys and flings drops of water in Erica's direction. The werewolf shrieks and dances out of the way. Derek wrangles his keys back.

"Don't drip on my upholstery," Derek warns, "Or I'll rip your throat out."

The sound Stiles makes as he sits down in the passenger seat is more a squelch than a drip. Derek stifles a sob.

The ride to Stiles' house is silent. Not because they're uncomfortable with each other, no, but because Stiles can't keep his eyes open. Derek is suffering the same dilemma and thanks the universe that Stiles only lives about a five minute drive from the Hale house.

When Derek pulls up outside Stiles' house, it's edging on seven o'clock. The house is dark and silent, with the sheriff's police cruiser no where in sight. Derek sighs in relief. This will make things easier.

Derek parks the Camaro a little ways down the block, away from the house. Then he gently tugs a half asleep Stiles from the passenger seat. He throws one of the kid's arms over his shoulder and leads him up to the front door. The neighborhood sits still and silent.

"Stiles, keys?"

There's an indistinguishable grumble.

"What?"

"Front pocket." Comes the slightly more understandable whisper.

It takes a great deal of Derek's control to pat Stiles' front pockets down. He imagines that if Stiles was more aware his strangled cat expression would be the subject of joking for weeks. But he isn't, so Derek very carefully pats both of the teen's front pockets. The denim is drenched under his hands, and does nothing to obscure the boy's muscled thighs. Well, there goes the mystery of how kept running for so long. Derek's fingers brush over something hard, and with a deep breath he dips his hand into Stiles' pocket. Thank God. The keys.

Stiles watches him through half lidded eyes, and Derek can only hope that the kid won't remember this later. Derek unlocks the door, and tugs Stiles inside. He half carries the exhausted kid up the stairs and into his room. Thankfully, the teen has enough presence of mind to shrug out of his own clothing. Derek doesn't think he could handle undressing the kid. His self control isn't that great.

Stiles flops face first down onto his comforter. Derek starts to head for the window. The classics are the best.

"Stay."

Derek freezes.

He turns around.

Stiles, in the brief second that Derek had turned to the window, has managed to roll under the covers. He's lying on his side, a corner of the blanket held in his hand. Stiles lifts it in invitation. Though his eyes are squinted with exhaustion, and his arm wavers with the strength it takes to hold it there, Stiles looks soberly at Derek.

"Stay."

There's nothing sexual about it, of course not, because Stiles could never think of Derek that way, but that doesn't stop Derek's heart from racing. He knows he'll regret this later. Derek knows this is just an all around bad idea. And yet, he can't stop himself from peeling off his wet clothes and tossing them next to Stiles. Soon he's standing there in his boxers, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Stiles gives him a slow up and down, and Derek can't help the shiver. Goosebumps break out along his arms. Stiles shakes the blanket.

Derek reminds himself that nothing his going to happen. Reminds himself to stop being such a blushing virgin when he isn't even one. The teenager is the calmest in this situation which is just unacceptable. He slips under the covers, and relaxes when Stiles drops the blanket down over his shoulders.

Derek tells himself over and over again that it means nothing when Stiles moves closer to him and wraps his arms around the werewolf like an octopus. He reminds himself that Stiles just wants his body heat. Derek knows that this is a bad idea. He tells himself he'll just stay until Stiles is asleep, then he'll leave. The warmth sucks him down.

When Derek wakes up to bright midday sun, he carefully extracts himself from Stiles' arms. He redresses in silence, careful not to wake the teen and exits through the window. Boyd and Erica shoot him knowing looks when he heads back to the construction site. Derek forces himself not to snap at the two. It's not their fault.

Derek meets Stiles out in the woods that night. Neither mention the bed sharing. It's like it never happened. Derek pretends that he isn't disappointed.

Better a little Stiles than none at all.

Barely two days after the troll incident, the pack gets bigger.

Since Isaac stopped coming and Derek gained Erica and Boyd's trust, training night on Wednesdays has become more of a pack night. They still train, but it's less just fighting against each other, and more creative ways of improving as werewolves. Stiles made sure of that.

Sometimes they do tracking exercises or stealth, other times Derek teaches them ways to utilize their claws and fangs in a fight. Today, they worked on balance. Stiles was forced to participate. The result is a lot of laughter and bruises and Stiles being excluded from ever doing anything involving agility. As usual, when they finish up they pile out on Derek's front lawn with Stiles' laptop. It's Erica's turn to pick, and once again they settle down to watch the Dark Knight. Boyd and Derek sit shoulder to shoulder, with Stiles and Erica entwined on both of their laps. Stiles always ends up with his face buried in Erica's blonde hair.

The first time they had done this, Derek had swallowed down irrational jealousy. Boyd, however had seemed to be doing the same, and Erica hadn't taken long to cotton on. She'd kissed Boyd long enough for Derek to be uncomfortable, and then assured the dazed werewolf that she was very much not interested in Stiles. At all. Derek had been comforted and then ashamed at himself. Now though, it was just routine.

They're about a half hour into the movie when someone clears their throat above them. Derek isn't the only one who jumps. He's not ashamed that when he's surrounded by his pack he lets his guard down. He should be able to.

He's more surprised when he looks up to see Isaac staring at the four of them wide eyed. Derek realizes it's the first time he's seen the teen in at least a month and a half.

Isaac's hair is longer now, and somehow even curlier. It makes the boy look younger and wilder. He looks lost and confused standing in front of Derek, and it's obvious Scott hasn't been the best teacher. Isaac has smile lines though, and he looks like he's put on a little weight. But now, standing in front of Derek in his pack, he just looks unsure and a little hurt.

Stiles is the first to move.

"Hey Isaac! What's happening dude?"

Stiles takes the pains to untangle himself from Erica, and sits up. He's still crushing Derek's knee, but you won't find Derek complaining. Isaac, if anything looks even more uncomfortable.

"I'm- well- I thought it was training night?" Isaac shifts from foot to foot. He refuses to meet Derek's eyes.

"Nice of you to remember, six weeks late." And Derek doesn't mean for his tone to be that accusatory. Isaac flinches.

Stiles slugs him in the shoulder.

"Derek don't be a jerk." Stiles slides his feet to the ground, and pushes himself up. He shoots Isaac a sympathetic look. Without any other warning, he slings an arm around the other teenager's shoulders. "Let me guess. Scott and Allison got back together and now the idiot doesn't even remember you exist." Isaac stares at his feet, scowling. When Stiles says nothing else, obviously waiting for a response, the kid sighs. He nods. Stiles tightens the arm around Isaac's shoulder and tugs him down to sit on the ground. Stiles arranges him so his shoulder is pressed against Derek's, and tugs Erica to lay across Isaac too.

For a moment, Isaac looks panicked, staring like a deer in the headlights. Then Derek makes a point of catching the teen's gaze and rolling his eyes.

"Every time its Erica's turn to pick the movie, we end up watching the Dark Knight." Derek heaves a dramatic sigh, internally pleased when he sees Isaac relax. "I swear to God I can recite the dialogue word for word." Everyone including Boyd, shoots Derek a dirty look.

"It's not our fault that you're a Marvel fan Derek." Erica says from her position sprawled across three werewolves' laps. Derek can feel Isaac shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Sorry Derek, but Batman rules." Isaac agrees. Derek groans.

"Seriously? Another person who likes D.C.?" Derek watches Isaac's content expression out of the corner of his eye. He's not entirely comfortable, not yet, but it's better than Derek managed in the months of being his Alpha.

Stiles pokes him in the stomach in retaliation.

"Quit being a baby Derek and come to the dark side." Boyd stretches out his arm to hit play on the laptop, and the movie leaps back onto the screen. "Now shut up and watch Batman save the day." Derek complies. His pack feels a little bit more full. A little bit more complete.

Isaac filters into their regular group gradually.

He always shows up for training now. Sometimes he'll pop by the Hale house in the morning, hang out with the rest of the pack. Not every day, not yet, but he comes progressively more. Every other day they can expect Isaac, and Stiles just starts bringing five coffees every morning. If Isaac doesn't show up, well, the construction workers have a drawing for who gets the extra coffee. Derek thinks they'll plan a revolt when Isaac starts coming everyday and one lucky worker is out of a coffee and a muffin.

It's unsurprising that Isaac warms up to Stiles first. He starts following Stiles around looking like a lost puppy. But he and Erica bond, and Boyd follows soon after. Derek doesn't know what the kid wants from him, but he tries, and while Isaac isn't falling all over him, he doesn't look in fear at Derek every time he does something remotely wrong. The first few flinches had been spectacular, and it made Derek want to rip Mr. Lahey's throat out, with his teeth.

Derek confesses this to Stiles, one of the nights they meet up, and the other boy laughs. He says that Derek must finally be warming up to Isaac and that he's very proud. When Derek flashes fangs, Stiles laughs again and says that Derek isn't the first and that he won't be the last. Stiles has always wanted to lock Mr. Lahey in the box Isaac was subjected to and let him die in there. Derek high-fives him for creativity. It feels weird, but isn't that what all the kids are doing these days?

When training night comes around, they don't always watch a movie once they're done with actual training. Sometimes they'll pile into one of the finished rooms in the Hale house and pull out the board games. Isaac turns out to have a terrible poker face, and Erica wipes the floor with them all every time they play the card game. Derek and Stiles battle it out in Scrabble, Derek with his degree in English and Stiles with his penchant for research. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac usually just start a separate game to avoid bloodshed.

Boyd dominates in Clue, and Derek can never help but wish that he had let the teen take control during the kanima situation. Boyd is probably the best detective out of them all. And definitely the most logical choice Derek made during his haze of Alpha power. Isaac surprises them all with his skill in Rummikub, and as the rest of the pack lives for a smiling and happy Isaac, they end up playing Rummikub more often than not. Derek, because of their uneven number, bought two boards. The pack sprawls across what will soon be the house's finished living room, and Derek spends most of his time pretending that the rest of his pack can't smell the arousal and affection coming off him in waves when Stiles presses against him to sneak a peak at his tiles. It's always a productive evening. They're laying or sitting in a wobbly circle, Isaac wiping the floor with everyone while Erica and Boyd steal kisses between their turns, when Derek picks up on two new heart beats.

There's a jingle of car keys, and Derek berates himself for not hearing the vehicle drive up. Relaxing his paranoia when he's with his pack, is one of the werewolf's most treasured activities, but evidently it's made him soft. Derek is seconds away from springing up and pushing Stiles behind him, away from the door, when he hears the voices.

The other three werewolves have heard the other two approaching, going by their sudden tension. Isaac silently places the tiles he was about to put down back on his rack. Erica climbs off Boyd's lap. Stiles- well Stiles keeps on chattering in Derek's ear about something Derek tuned out hours ago (that's a lie, because Derek listens to everything that comes out of Stiles' mouth, even it's as inconsequential as the history of curly fries). He's human so he's entirely oblivious to sound of approaching footsteps. It frightens Derek sometimes, how at their mercy Stiles is. Derek spends a lot of time pretending that his pack can't smell the protectiveness coming off him in waves.

Stiles catches on eventually, right when there's a shout from outside. The boy startles into Derek. What does it say when Derek doesn't even need to think to press a hand to Stiles' side? Avoiding the flailing human is second nature at this point. Derek could even admit to a smidgen of fondness when he gets hit with a wild limb. But just a smidgen of course.

"Derek!" Comes the shout. "I know you're in there!" At the sound of another shouting teen, Jackson, Derek simultaneously relaxes and tenses. On one hand, the urge to shove Stiles- um, his pack, to safety dims. On the other hand, Jackson is one of Derek's biggest mistakes, one that keeps Derek up at night.

It wasn't just that biting Jackson produced the kanima. Well, okay, it was a little bit that. But even if Jackson had been transformed into a regular werewolf like he was now, Jackson wasn't the type to be a werewolf. Derek may have thought the same things about Erica and Isaac at first too, but he had reasons beyond pack for biting them. They both deserved a second chance at life, and Derek had given it to them, however unwisely. Jackson though, Jackson had just been a mistake. Sure, the kid had his own issues, but they were issues that would interfere with being a werewolf.

Jackson had an independent streak a mile wide, and the surefire conviction that he was better than everyone around him, full stop. The kid had daddy issues, and mommy issues, and had let Isaac's dad beat on him. It didn't help that he'd bullied Stiles, hurt him too. Just for that, Derek hated him. Occasionally, Derek had caught the flashes of decency in the teen, mostly when he was around the red head, Lydia. And that in itself was a whole other set of issues. Derek knows that he shouldn't hate the girl for what she did under Peter's influence. And yet, when Derek looks at her, all he can see is Lydia blowing wolfsbane at him. All he can feel is his uncle's hand wrapped around his wrist and draining his alpha power. That empty, aching hole in him as his uncle came to life once more. And the hatred he couldn't help but feel when the girl ran away and his uncle disappeared to places unknown and Derek lay there for what felt like days, trying to find the energy to move.

But, mostly, Derek's issue with Lydia is Stiles. She's only come up a few times since that first night, but Stiles always smells of bitter and hurt whenever her name comes up. Derek knows that Stiles was in love with her, heard Scott comment on his ten year plan back when they still pretended to be allies. Derek's only a werewolf, he can't help the irrational jealousy. His wolf howls at the thought of Stiles loving somebody else. It's only Derek's stellar control that saves. Lydia from yet another mauling. But, more than jealousy, Lydia hurt Stiles. Maybe not physically, because Gerard had taken care of that, but emotionally, while he was down. Stiles doesn't talk much about her, but that doesn't mean he isn't hurting. To be plain, Derek hates it when Stiles is hurt.

And Lydia hurts him.

Now that Derek has identified Jackson's heartbeat, it isn't much of a stretch to identify the other. He imagines that he can smell perfume from the living room of the Hale house. And Derek isn't imagining that it's getting closer.

Jackson and Lydia apparently decide to let themselves in. Rude, Derek thinks, seeing as he now has a functioning door. When the electrician comes later in the week, he'll even have a doorbell! Boyd and Stiles had teamed up to convince him. If he's going to live in a functional house, then he might as well go all out, they had said. This way when he had visitors they could ring the bell. Derek finds this redundant, seeing as he is both a werewolf, and has no visitors other than people who don't care about manners. But, Derek also lacks the ability to deny Stiles anything. The teen was firmly under his skin.

Derek checks back into the situation to Stiles' hand covering his, and the teen leaning into him to glance through the doorway. Derek savors skin on skin contact and ignores the rest of his pack's smirks. More and more, Stiles has been touching Derek, and the werewolf savors every instance. Even when immediately after he's staring at Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore holding hands in his unpainted doorway. Both the teens are staring right back.

Stiles had mentioned that Lydia was a genius, but right now she's busy doing her own impression of a gaping fish. Jackson even drops his superior and pompous look for a startled one.

His pack has told him, over and over, that it really is weird to see Derek sprawled out playing board games, or watching a movie pressed in with them. Apparently, the alpha gives off a rather intimidating impression, and really, hearing him shouting Uno is a bit hard to reconcile with the person who stabbed his claws through Jackson's chest. The night Erica had said as much, Derek had found Stiles and curled up with his head in his lap. Told the teenager how he couldn't stand the blood in his hands, and that he never wanted to hurt anybody. He tells Stiles how he wakes up screaming the names of anyone he's ever hurt. Stiles carded his fingers through Derek's unruly spikes, and just held him.

Derek never realized how touch starved he was before Stiles.

Lydia recovers first, untangling her fingers from her boyfriend's. Derek forces himself not to tense up as she walks closer to him, and by default, Stiles. As if he could sense the older man thinking of him, Stiles leans more fully into Derek and squeezes his hand. Once, twice. It was so like the kid to offer comfort when he should be the one hurting. Derek should be comforting him.

His arm fits easily along the line of Stiles' shoulders. Derek tugs the boy in even closer to his side, pointedly avoiding everyone else's gaze. Stiles relaxes into him, and they slot together perfectly. It's an ongoing battle to hide his smile.

Lydia gracefully sinks to the floor next to Stiles, and Derek tightens his grip on the boy. Stiles' heart rate is entirely level, and he lacks any bitter smell. In fact, the teenager makes a point of jabbing Derek in the side when his tightened arm slips into uncomfortable territory.

"Dude. I'm only human, the warranty doesn't extend to death by cuddling." Stiles says. Something uncurls in Derek's stomach when the boy makes no move to lean away. Derek drops his arm, only to bring it back up to flick Stiles in the ear. "Hey! No! Bad dog!" Derek raises his eyebrows, and Stiles gives an exaggerated gulp. There's no actual fear in him though, the only scent coming off of him is contentment, mixed with mild amusement.

Lydia interrupts them with a pointed throat clear.

"Not that it isn't interesting to learn that our fearless alpha really has a gooey inside, but where did you put the extra racks?" Lydia smirks, and flips red hair over one shoulder. "I love a good game of Rummikub."

It turns out that Isaac is the only one who can really compete with Lydia. Derek isn't surprised.

Lydia and Jackson joining the pack is a long, stilted process, fraught with tension. It makes Derek realize how easy it was to let Erica and Boyd in. Makes slowly coaxing Isaac into coming over every morning to hang out near the construction site look like a walk in the park. Derek never counted on how difficult it would be to just be around them.

Jackson, on about half the days they see him is, as Stiles would put it, a raging douche. Even Derek thinks the teen is too prickly for his own good. And as Stiles extrapolates on one of the nights they meet up in the woods, Derek is the king of prickly.

And beyond all that, Derek can't help but think of Stiles more and more. Not in a sexual way, not always at least, but when he Derek sees something funny when he's in town, or one of the betas does something remarkably stupid or clever, the first thing he thinks about is telling Stiles. When he's there, Derek does. When he isn't, he knows he smells like pining and excitement all day until he faces the teen once more. It's humiliating, and it's only due to the fact that Erica, Boyd, and Isaac pity him that his betas aren't mocking him around the clock for it. Every night, he goes out to meet Stiles in the woods, and every night, Stiles is there.

They don't always stay for long. Sometimes Stiles is falling down exhausted from whatever he's done that day and Derek will take pity on him and walk him home. Sometimes Derek has to get up early for a meeting with an electrician or a plumber, and he'll only stay to chat with Stiles for a half hour. Derek hates those nights.

Most nights, the two stay out in the woods for hours, just talking. About nothing and everything. Petty arguments over the best books or television shows. Painful talks that dredge up memories from years and years ago that both try so hard to forget. Meaningless chit chat about the day, or their plans tomorrow. Depending on if they had a pack night, Derek will ask Stiles how he thinks his betas are doing. Stiles will offer critique and praise on his developing social skills. Derek will playfully tackle him to the ground, and they'll have their own private training session. Until Derek is sure Stiles is safe, and can hold his own against anyone. No one hurts his pack.

Other nights, depending how much excess energy Stiles has, he'll bring his lacrosse stick and they'll toss some balls around. That's how Stiles finds out that Derek was in the lacrosse team, and that he has his own stick to play with. Derek remembers how much he'd loved the sport in high school, before the fire. His family had drilled into him that he could play nothing better than average, on risk of someone becoming suspicious. It had still been one of his favorite things.

He gives Stiles tips, and they scrimmage using the forest as a field. Stiles really isn't all that bad, and Derek thinks that once he has the confidence to really put himself out there, he could give even the werewolves on the team a run for their money. Derek loves these nights, when the forest is filled with laughter, and even Derek can find nothing to brood about.

His favorite nights are the rarest.

They never start out well, but that seems so typical of Derek's life that he stops noticing. When Derek goes out to meet Stiles, he'll find him sitting slumped against a tree, head in hands. Some nights, it's been a nightmare. Others a fight with his dad. Or, so common now that it usually doesn't bother the teen, a brush off from Scott. Derek will see him and he'll know. His wolf will rage at the boy ever being anything less than happy, and it will be all Derek can do not to grab Stiles and run. To just hide him from everything that hurts him. It's on nights like these that Derek will offer the teen a hand up and tug him towards the Hale house. Depending on Stiles' mood, they'll watch a movie on Derek's laptop. If the boy is exhausted, and barely on his feet except for whatever is bothering him, Derek will take him to bed.

It's not romantic, no. Despite what Derek may want, these nights are never about that. They're about comfort and bringing a smile back on Stiles' face. Derek used to pretend otherwise, but he's a tactile person. The only person that he'd let touch him for years after the fire was Laura, but then she'd died and Derek had been adrift and lonely. But then Stiles barged into his life, and suddenly he wanted to touch again. Suddenly, it was okay when Erica snuggled into his chest, or Boyd leaned against him, or Isaac lay his head in Derek's lap. It made him... Happy. But Derek likes to touch Stiles the best.

Perhaps it's knowing how breakable the person next to him is. Maybe it's the fierce urge to protect that wells every time Stiles is near him, only quelled by skin-on-skin contact. The only thing Derek knows is that, no matter how hard he may have resisted it at first, he's at his most content when he has a hand on Stiles. Even if the teen will never know how he feels.

So, on these nights, Derek touches Stiles as much as he can. If they're watching a movie, Derek will plaster himself against the younger boy, clinging as much as he can without seeming desperate. If Stiles just needs his rest, Derek will entwine their limbs until even his improved senses couldn't tell him where one of them ends and the other begins. They'll lie there until one or both of them falls asleep. Usually it's Stiles, but Derek can't deny that he sleeps the best on the nights when the boy is beside him. And they'll stay there all night, without ever having said a word, and in the morning there'll be no awkward morning after. Stiles' smile will be as big as any other day. He'll still steal sips of Derek's coffee and laugh when the werewolf growls at him. Stiles has a few changes of clothes at Derek's for nights like these. If that doesn't warm something inside Derek, make the wolf so content it could purr, nothing does.

When it's Derek that's having the bad night, Stiles will just know. Whether he sees it during the day, or he just listens to everything Derek has said and knows the dates to watch him, it doesn't matter. The anniversary of the fire puts him in a bad way. All Derek can feel is all-consuming grief, and it's a miracle that Stiles even manages to navigate him back through the teen's window. It must be muscle memory more than anything else. Whether it's the fire or birthdays that never had the chance to happen, Stiles just knows. He'll sprawl himself all over Derek. Instead of spending these nights in silence, Stiles never shuts up. He babbles on about completely meaningless things, things that Derek has never even heard of. Sometimes he'll grab a random book and read aloud. Either way he doesn't stop talking (or whispering, depending on whether his father is home) until all the tension has seeped out of Derek and he can finally shut his mind off. Then the teen will simply stop, and wrap his arms around Derek and just breathe with him until they're both asleep.

There are still no awkward mornings after. That's just not how Stiles and Derek work.

They haven't had one of those nights in a while, much to Derek's chagrin (he's in a good mood for weeks when he gets a night to curl all around Stiles) when he comes across Stiles in the woods. When he tilts his head up to look at Derek there's a healthy mix of fear and relief. And Derek... Derek feels like he's missing something.

It had been a good day, Derek had thought. No, it had been a spectacular day. Everyone had gotten along, including Jackson and Lydia, who had spent all day at the Hale house. They'd played board games, done a bit of training, watched some movies. There hadn't been awkward tension to cut even once! It tastes like victory. His pack is a group of emotionally angsting teenagers, so Derek knows it won't always be this way, but today it actually felt like his pack is coming together. Stiles had been smiling and happy and obviously sharing in Derek's pleasure, but... Apparently the werewolf has missed something. Because now Stiles is sitting with his back to a tree, staring forlornly at his sneakers and radiating sadness.

It feels different than other nights. Even when they occasionally fought, it is never this heavy weight over everything. They'd talk it through, because as emotionally constipated as Derek is, Stiles is worth it. He'll sing love sonnets to the kid to keep him around for god's sake! (And if Derek ignores the fact that he would mean most of the words he was singing, well... Too bad.)

Wait, is- does Stiles want to leave? A rock sinks to the bottom of Derek's stomach and he wants nothing more to run away and hide somewhere because he is nothing without Stiles, nothing and-

And Derek is going to talk to the teen, instead of working himself up to nothing. Acting on impulse, on emotion, hasn't gotten him anywhere good before. It probably won't again.

But Derek will let Stiles talk first, because that was just what the teen did. Derek still speaks with actions more than anything, so he does what he can. Sliding down the rough tree bark until he lands with a muffled thump on the pine needles, Derek presses himself up against Stiles. From ankle to thigh, from hip to shoulder.

Stiles flinches away at his first touch, and Derek's wolf howls in pain and hurt. Derek does the reasonable thing and plasters himself to Stiles even tighter, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders to pull him into his side. For a moment, Stiles is stiff with tension and Derek is terrified that he'll push him away and leave. Leave and never come back. Finally, after a few moments in which Derek hardly dares to breathe, the teen relaxes. It is less of a relaxing of muscles, and more like the strings animating Stiles have been cut. The human's full body weight slumps heavily onto Derek, and he releases a shaky, uneven breath.

Still, they sit in silence. Derek can't help drawing him closer.

In any other situation, any other time, Derek will say he is perfectly content. He has the boy he may or may not be in love with (and oh God, Derek had nearly thrown up at that revelation. He could never tell Stiles because if Derek was being honest with himself, losing Stiles would kill him.) snug in his arms. They are alone, and all Derek can see and hear and smell is Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. But, there is still a heaviness in the air, one that won't disappear no matter how hard Stiles presses his face into Derek's chest. It leaves Derek feeling... Off.

They've been sitting for what feels like hours, when finally Stiles opens his mouth. Derek knows he's going to start minutes before he actually does. Derek can feel every muscle in Stiles' body tense back up again. Can smell the sadness and anxiety drop back over the boy. Can hear the teen's jaw working before he finally speaks. Derek braces himself for pain and hurt and betrayal and-

"You don't need me anymore." And what? Derek doesn't- Stiles barrels on before the werewolf can negate the ridiculousness of that statement and everything he says is more ridiculous than the last. "The pack's coming together, and they trust you dude. They look to you for advice, and you actually train them and hang out with them and you listen. You're turning out to be an awesome alpha, and you've even got Lydia and Jackson under your thumb because you actually know what you're doing. I'm just- I don't fit, I'm not a werewolf and Lydia doesn't count because we all know she's superhuman because she's just Lydia, and I'm the weak link who doesn't do anything except spew teenage angst and hormones and stupidity everywhere. And I keep waiting for you to say that I should leave now and go away, because you've humored me for so long and you act like you actually care and I don't- I can't-"

Stiles is breathing too fast, on the verge of hyperventilating, perhaps of a full scale panic attack. He's shaking and tense and smells overwhelmingly of fear and for a second Derek is frozen. Because really? After all that they've been through, everything that Stiles has done he thinks he's worthless? If he leaves, stops being pack, everything will fall apart. Stiles is the glue that keeps everyone together, that keeps Derek together and if leaves then-

The only thing Derek can think to do is kiss him. He can't care about rejection and ruining everything because Stiles needs to see that he means something, that he's important to Derek. He needs to realize how much Derek loves him and-

And Stiles is kissing back. Stiles is kissing him back.

It starts off chaste and tender, just a soft press of lips against lips. Stiles' are slightly chapped, and he catches him mid-word but it's the best kiss Derek has ever had. He breathes in Stiles' air and savors the feel of the boy so close. It's hardly a second and his eyes fall shut. But he's already pulling away and apologizing because Derek shouldn't have done that, should never have taken advantage like that, when Stiles moves.

It's an explosion of energy, like everything Stiles does, and Derek barely holds back a wince when a flailing limb catches him in the side. But then Stiles is in Derek's lap, straddling him and everything is so much better.

Derek isn't new to kissing. Hell, he isn't new to sex. But when it's Stiles in his arms, Stiles nipping his way into his mouth, well, he feels like an amateur.

They kiss like they're arguing, maybe even fighting. It's fierce and desperate and Derek hasn't felt this way in a long time. He's got an arm around Stiles' waist that he doesn't remember putting there, and a hand that strokes the teen's cheekbone with all the gentleness the kiss lacks. One of Stiles' hands is gripped so tight in Derek's hair that it borders on too much, and the other hand is fisted so tight in Derek's t-shirt that he's worried about stitches popping. It's fierce before Stiles nips at Derek's bottom lip. Once Stiles has forced his way inside Derek's mouth, and Derek is fighting him back for dominance because he's the alpha goddammit, well then... Then Derek isn't lying when he says he's on fire.

And then suddenly it stops. Everything. The weight disappears from his lap, and by the time Derek stops gasping and recovers enough to open his eyes, Stiles is gone. He's gone and Derek is too confused and defeated to do anything but sit there. Once he's sure that Stiles is far enough out of ear shot, Derek grabs his own arm, bites down, and screams.

He's shaking, and Derek is positive that now that he knew what it was like to have Stiles, all of Stiles, he'll never be satisfied with anyone else. Ever again. And he's just so fucking tired.

Derek smacks his head back against the tree once, hard, before stomping to his feet. Derek changes, fully to the alpha form which usually takes intense concentration, but not today, and he runs.

The first thing Derek does when he's calmed down enough to change back to human form is call the construction company. He knows in his gut that he's ruined everything. He wants a day to mourn the way his life is collapsing in peace, thank you very much. The head of the crew is reluctant to waste a day, but then Derek is offering to pay double for the day they aren't working, and the man is suddenly agreeing no problem. It's not like Derek has anything to spend the millions on. Because there is millions, with all the life insurance policies, trust funds, and publishing royalties. Derek has it all worked out, and really, he doesn't have to work a day for the rest of his life. It's an empty feeling.

After he's done that, Derek stands in his almost finished house at a loss. He's nauseous, hasn't slept in what feels like years, and he's just... empty. So Derek just does all he's ever been able to do. He hides.

Everything in his house shouts of Stiles. Stiles picked the layout of the kitchen. Stiles helped him choose what color every room will eventually be painted. Stiles bought half the board games stacked in the corner. Stiles taught him about red pandas in that corner. Stiles introduced him to Supernatural leaning against that wall. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

An hour ago, it would have been a comfort. Now, it's like exquisite torture.

There's probably only one place on the entire Hale property that Stiles hasn't been. Derek has told him about it of course, Stiles has offered to go down there to grab anything, but Derek, Derek couldn't let him. Because, illogical as it may be, Derek's terrified that if Stiles goes down into the basement, he'll never come out. Just like the rest of his family.

It's stupid, but Derek isn't thinking clearly. He can't venture down into the basement on a good day, but he just needs to be away from the crushing presence of Stiles even if only for a little while.

Derek all but throws himself down the basement stairs.

It's the first part of the house that was remodeled. Practically everything is redone, or at least has a fresh layer of concrete over it. Derek doesn't know much of what it looks like, because he hadn't even been able to bear looking at plans of the basement. All he hears is his family screaming, screaming, screaming.

That's not what hits him first though, once he's gained his bearings and pulled himself to his feet. What hits him first is the cold.

It's odd, because though it's three o'clock in the morning, it's still the middle of summer. It shouldn't be cold anywhere. But down in the basement, it's freezing. Derek can feel the goosebumps breaking out on his arms. He shivers in his thin t-shirt and shorts. The next thing he sees is the windows. There are still bars on them.

Objectively, Derek knows this. He walks his perimeter everyday, and he's sat outside by the windows more times than he can count. It's different being in the basement.

Underneath the fresh paint on the bars, he can see where claws would have dug in. He can see hands reaching through the bars, begging, crying, screaming for help. He can see the bodies pressed up against the wall, hiding from the flames and the heat.

Underneath the new cement, Derek knows there are darkened patches of ash and soot.

Twelve.

Eleven people died in the fire, but Peter had been close enough that he got his own patch of wall. Hell, his Uncle Peter had died in the fire. The one who took him to baseball games, and taught his daughters how to build a treehouse. The one who was the smartest person in the family, who taught Derek how to drive once he got his permit. Uncle Peter, who would tell the best ghost stories, and then go and terrify everyone once they headed to bed. Derek might- he thinks he might be sick.

But, it's not bile that rises in his throat. Instead it's a howl.

Well, it's something resembling a howl.

It's nowhere near as bad as Scott's joke of a howl, that night at the school, but it's not powerful either. Even to Derek's own ears, it sounds... broken. There is grief and pain and regret and guilt in that howl. It's cracking and wavering. It's miserable.

It sounds loud to Derek's ears, with the way it echoes through the basement. To Derek it sounds like the rest of his dead family howls back. All he can hope is that none of his pack is near enough to find their alpha falling apart because he did something stupid.

After the howl ends, Derek just sort of zones out for a while. He's dimly aware that he's crouched against a corner of the basement, arms over his head, and shivering. But he everything is moving as if it's stuck in molasses.

Derek isn't sure why he thought it was a good idea to come down here. Even if he technically isn't thinking about Stiles and Stiles running and Stiles leaving (except he is, because Stiles would have been here with him once he braved the basement, Stiles would have pulled him out of his funk, and that he's all alone just makes the hole in his heart open a little more) this hurts just as much. It is- was- his family.

Then there are hands tugging at his arms, and a voice grumbling and chastising above him. He's heavy, so it could only be someone with werewolf strength who throws him over their shoulder. It's done with no extra care for his comfort, but whoever it is gets him out of the basement. That's plenty of care for his comfort in Derek's opinion.

He's not really sure who he's expecting when he opens his eyes. There's a blanket around his shoulders and a heartbeat above him. Derek is focusing on his stupidity and trying to use that to black out the embarrassment when the other person speaks. And everything is a million times worse.

"Well that was stupid, nephew."

Derek is on his feet within seconds.

Peter leans against the wall, watching Derek with the faintest of smirks.

Besides the fact that a drop of perspiration is dotting the man's temple, and that on his right shoulder his shirt is wrinkled, there is no evidence that Peter carried him out of the basement. But Derek knows.

Peter can't be unaffected. The basement holds just as many, if not more, horrors for him. And yet here he is, looking smug and watching Derek trying to get his bearings with amusement. Derek was a rocking a pile of pain on the floor, his alpha is radiating misery, and his Uncle can still just stand there laughing.

Sometimes (All the time), Derek really wants to punch Peter.

That's why it has been a good thing that Derek hasn't seen the man. Since the night everything went down, Peter has been MIA. While one part of Derek worries about what Peter is planning, the other part is just glad the man is staying away while Derek stabilizes his pack. Or had been staying away.

Instead if physically attacking the man, Derek leans back against the opposite wall. Crossing his arms, Derek mirrors Peter's pose and takes deep breaths. His mind has at least been pulled off the basement momentarily, and off Stiles too. If Derek isn't careful, he might even think of Peter as a blessing. Ha.

"What, no thank you Derek?" Peter says. He presses a hand against his heart. "I'm hurt nephew. Truly hurt!"

Derek would like to make Peter 'truly hurt'.

"Out." It comes out in a rasp, much less authoritative than Derek had planned. He tries again, flashing his eyes alpha red. "Get. Out."

Of course, because Peter loves being contrary, he takes a step forward. Derek bares his teeth at him, but instead of teeth, his tongue gets tangled around fangs. Derek isn't sure when his body deigned to transform, but it's worrying that he did it without thought. He hasn't been this out of control since he was a child, just getting the hang of living a double life.

Peter is looking at him with amusement and, if Derek lifts the veil he always sees Peter through, perhaps a bit of concern.

"That would be irresponsible of me wouldn't it? To leave my alpha here like this?" Peter crosses his arms, and tilts his head mockingly. But his eyes tell a different story.

Back before, when Peter was on his quest of revenge, when he was Alpha, it was his eyes that scared Derek the most. It was his eyes that were wrong. Derek, no matter how much he hadn't wanted to believe it, knew that the monster he was following wasn't his uncle. His eyes had been empty and angry and insane.

Since he's been back, or in the short time that Derek has been around him since he's been back, Derek has noticed his eyes. They aren't like they were when he was alpha, but they aren't quite like before the fire either.

Derek doesn't know how to deal with that.

"Derek. What's. Wrong?" Peter is barely a foot away, and it isn't too hard to imagine concern in his eyes now. Derek has to dig his (thankfully) human nails into his palms to resist the urge to grab onto his uncle. When Derek was little and upset, he would always run to his Uncle Peter. As a child, Derek had thought his Uncle Peter hung the moon (ha get it? Moon). It's hard to break a habit that had made him happy for the first sixteen years of his life. It's hard to want to.

Derek lets his head fall forward, neck loose. Isn't it odd that he trusts his psychopathic, murdering uncle enough to bare his throat? Peter could kill him instantly, effortlessly. He could become alpha again, have power again. But Derek doesn't even flinch when Peter very briefly lays a hand on the nape of his neck. It's a fleeting touch, but still, Derek can barely resist the tears that well up in his eyes at seeing family so close when he's been so alone since Laura. He bites down in his lip, hard. He tastes the salty tang of blood. It takes several more moments before he has control enough to speak.

"I'm terrible at this." Derek pointedly doesn't look up. He lets Peter stare at the top of his bent head, and thanks whatever god there is that he doesn't have to see his uncle's expression. The derisive snort certainly helps matters.

"Seriously, Derek? That's what this teenage angst fest is about? I sincerely thought you were better than this nephew." The reprimand makes Derek feel no better. Perhaps he really has been spending too much time with teenagers, because he has the inexplicable urge to stomp his foot and run to his room. Except... Well his teenage room is a burnt out husk that no longer exists, and his new master bedroom is only half finished. The anger is momentary, though. Ironically, Stiles has mellowed him out, so that same burning that would make lash out dissipates. The other emotions, of grief and guilt and sadness outrank anger.

Derek doesn't raise his head.

"I was never meant to be the alpha." It's softer than Derek meant to be, and a confession he never meant to give. Things like this, hurts like this, Derek saves them for Stiles alone. Only the human has ever been able to soothe them. But now that Derek has ruined things, why not share them with his psychopathic Uncle?

"Well, obviously. You weren't born with an authoritative bone in your body." Peter says. He can hear the sinew moving in his neck, and feel the displacement of air that means Peter is shaking his head.

"I can't-" Derek starts.

"Ah, ah, ah! I said you weren't born with an authoritative bone in you. Not that you don't have any." Peter's voice is smug. Derek raises his head to glare at the man. Peter's face catches him off guard however and he pauses. The man looks serious and solemn and sad. Derek knows enough to think that this is a one time occasion, and he manfully stays quiet. Peter turns his back to Derek. "My sister was something special. She was- well, you know. Talia was born an alpha, even if her eyes didn't say so for our childhood. But, once our father, the alpha, died, no one even thought to question her right to the role. I was going on seventeen, and Talia was only on her third year of college, but she was undoubtedly the alpha. And she was alpha, the unchallenged alpha, for twenty four years." Peter spins around, and Derek doesn't even bother to hide the fact that he is listening intently. The man's face is sad and grieved, but it's fierce too. He looks at Derek with a challenge in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how rare it is for an alpha to go unchallenged? To even retain the right as alpha for more than two decades?" Peter asks. When he waits for Derek's answer, he can only give the answer that he knows Peter wants.

"No."

Peter takes a deep breath.

"Your mother was the strongest and most prominent alpha on this continent. She had to constantly turn down other were's who wanted to join our pack. The Hale pack was the one of the smallest packs on the west coast, consisting entirely of blood, but it was one of the strongest in history. And that, all of that was because of your mother."

Derek releases a shaky breath, and meets Peter's eyes with a levelness he doesn't feel. Both men ignore the sheen to their eyes and neither looks away. Derek speaks first, eyes never wavering from Peter's.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Derek asks. His voice breaks, but Peter gives no indication of hearing it. On any other day, to anyone else (not counting Stiles), Derek would never let his barriers this far down. But, it has already been one hell of a day, Peter is the only person who really understands what he's saying, and it feels like something important is passing between them. Something precious and secret and raw.

"Because you need to understand that you will never measure up to your mother. You will never be half the alpha she was." Peter states. And god, if that doesn't hurt like a sucker-punch to the stomach. Derek knows his flinch must be obvious as his eyes harden against his uncle, because Peter winces. Winces and barrels on. "That's not an insult Derek. My sister was- my sister was unique, and no alpha will ever be able to measure up. The rarest perhaps could come halfway, but no one, no one can ever usurp Talia." Derek knows that his eyes have yet to unfrost, because even if he doesn't have the ability to work up to real, true anger right now, that comment hurt enough to bring his back up. Peter's words aren't doing much to relieve the tension.

Peter obviously notices such. Apparently, it's the last straw for the uncle who has been surprisingly calm and docile thus far. Peter slams his hand against the wall. The board creaks, but it doesn't break, and Derek takes a moment to be grateful before Peter is up in his face once more.

"Goddammit! Listen to me, Derek!" Peter's eyes rage at Derek from only inches away. "Stop feeling so bad for yourself and listen! All you have to compare yourself to is your mother, and that's what you're doing so of course you're a terrible alpha!" Peter looks like he desperately wants to shake Derek. It's only a thin strand of remaining control that stops Derek from flashing his eyes red and forcing Peter into submission. Fortunately, Peter deigns to take a step back, and Derek is able to focus on his words again, rather than the feeling of being threatened. It's hardly even noticeable that Peter had even lost control now. "Compare yourself to my stint as an alpha, compare yourself to every alpha that took advantage and hurt people or their own pack." Peter says, voice and eyes hard. "You really aren't doing that badly, nephew of mine."

"Not doing that badly." Derek says lowly. His eyes burn, and not even the weariness instilled by the day can muffle Derek's anger. This time, it's Derek who takes a step closer. "I manipulated three teenagers into taking the bite. In the one person who sought me out, I created a monster. I put innocent humans in danger. And I'm not doing that badly?"

Peter snorts. Not a hint of fear shows on his face.

"Please. You gave three teenagers a second chance when their first was a failure. You defeated the monster and saved the teenager. And everyone knows that the only human you're concerned with is Stiles, so why don't we stop pretending that it's anyone else that's causing this little tantrum of yours?"

Derek takes a literal step back in shock. It somehow surprises him that Peter can reach the heart of the matter so easily. Has he been aware since he pulled Derek out of the basement? If he already knows that Stiles is the main reason for Derek's disquiet, why bother trying to fix his issues with being an alpha? Why would Peter quell the fear that isn't even driving him? Because Derek does feel more comfortable in his skin. A little less of a disaster. Now if he could just fix things with his human...

"What do you know about Stiles?" Derek growls. Peter smirks. And begins ticking points off on his fingers.

"He's smart, crafty, and hyperactive. You're in love with him. You meet up with him every night in the woods, and you two talk." Here, Peter makes a disgusted face. "And the kid is as head over heels for you as you are for him. Honestly Derek, can't you smell it?"

Derek... Derek really wishes he could get drunk right about now.

It's almost dark by the time Derek heads over to Stiles' house. He's spent the day being berated by Peter for his stupidity, and then after he left, moping around the house and trying to think of what to say to Stiles. By the time Derek is standing beneath the boy's window, he has everything he wants to say mapped out to the tee.

It still throbs like a hole in his chest every time he thinks of Stiles running away from the kiss, away from Derek. It still hurts, but Derek has had enough time to think that he has realized that he was out of line. Regardless of Derek's feelings for Stiles, he should have tried to talk to the teen instead of kissing him. Settled Stiles' ridiculous inadequacy issues before practically pouncing on him. The hopeful and optimistic part of Derek's brain reminds him that Stiles had kissed him back, enthusiastically, before taking flight. Derek tries not to let that cloud his judgement.

The Sheriff's cruiser isn't in the driveway, and Derek marvels that he didn't even have to wonder about that, because he knew everything about Stiles so well. Down to the minutes and seconds of his father's schedule.

The darkness isn't yet complete, and isn't doing much to conceal Derek from prying neighbors, but he can't wait any longer. He's played what he wants to say to Stiles over and over again so many times that it's blurred into meaninglessness. Even though the words he has to say are no less powerful.

With one easy leap and a bit of a balancing act, Derek is perched outside Stiles' window. It makes Derek feel like a stranger when he raises his fist to knock.

Seconds later, Stiles is coming to the window and tugging the blinds aside. And Derek is left speechless.

Stiles has bitten his lips raw, so much that they are stained a blood-red. His hair sticks in a painfully many directions, not so much bed-hair but as if Stiles has run his fingers through it over and over again. The teen hasn't changed his clothes since Derek last saw him, and glancing past him into the room, he can tell that the only thing disturbed is Stiles' bed. But Stiles himself looks too exhausted to have actually gotten any sleep.

Derek is aware that he too, must look a sight. He hasn't changed his clothes either, and his shirt has several blood stains that weren't there before. He'd cleaned his hands, but then the urge to see and talk to Stiles right now had overwhelmed him before he could be bothered to change his shirt. His hair must be as bad, if not worse than, Stiles', because Derek has lost count over the last few hours of how many times he's run his fingers through it.

And yet, none of that really seems to justify the surprise on Stiles' face.

Then the window is being slid upwards and Derek is being tugged in. Somehow, Stiles manages to stabilize the werewolf, and then Derek is being engulfed in an embrace. It... Isn't what Derek is expecting.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Stiles chants into his neck. The boy's entire face is snuggled into the place where Derek's shoulder meets his neck, and the quick puffs of breath warm Derek's skin. Derek's arms wrap around Stiles of their own accord. Something in the werewolf relaxes. Derek lets himself revel in the feel of Stiles for a moment and then he begins to back away.

The air conditioning is leaking out the still open window, so Derek extricates himself from Stiles and shuts it. Stiles' arms hang uselessly by his side and he looks lost and frightened standing alone in the middle of the room.

Derek aches to tug him back into his arms, hug Stiles tight and never let go, but he has to say his piece first. There are no secrets between them.

"No, Stiles. I'm sorry." It comes out huskier and rougher than Derek intended. Derek tries to ignore how Stiles shivers. And then, because he's Stiles, the teen immediately tries to interrupt.

"What- no- I'm the one-" Stiles starts. Derek shakes his head hard enough that the boy quiets. Derek glances down at his shoes once, to fortify himself before he shakes his head again. He looks up and meets Stiles' eyes.

"I shouldn't have kissed you like that, and I'm sorry." The hurt is immediate, and Stiles can't look down fast enough to hide it. Derek can't help his huff of exasperation. Of course the teen would take that the wrong way, of course. Derek takes a short step forward, and grasps Stiles' chin. Gently but surely, he forces the teen to meet his eyes. "I'm not apologizing for kissing you idiot, I'm apologizing for not talking to you first." It's with great satisfaction that Derek feels Stiles' jaw drop. The play of muscles under his fingers makes the werewolf flash back to their first and only kiss, and to how Stiles felt under his mouth. Derek hopes his flush isn't visible.

"But, shouldn't you be mad at me?" Stiles asks. "I ran away dude. I totally pulled a hit and run on you. You should be pissed." Stiles contrasts his words with the way his entire body sways closer to Derek as he speaks. If Derek had had any doubt after Peter's lecture that the teen really was attracted to him, it dissipates. Derek can only shake his head fondly.

"I was a dick, Stiles. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that." Derek clears his throat. "Especially not after Kate-" Derek stops when a slim finger presses hard against his lips. Stiles glares at him like he's an idiot.

"Okay, first, no. You're absolutely nothing like her, don't be an idiot. Second, you can take your apology and shove it up your ass. I was fully consenting, and for future reference- I'm not adverse to that way of shutting me up." Stiles flushes a pretty red, and it takes all of Derek's will-power not to suck the finger into his mouth. Totally inappropriate to the situation. No matter what Derek's wolf is howling.

"I still-"

"I was the one who was being stupid alright?" Stiles flails his other hand wildly. "I don't know what's going through my head half the time dude, and I don't know- I guess- I guess I just panicked. I don't know why." Stiles smiled self-deprecatingly. "Stiles-brain works in strange ways." Derek can hear the lie, but he doesn't know what to do with it. So he falls back on his plan.

"I need you." Derek starts. Stiles pales, and shakes his head once.

"Derek, it's okay-"

"Shut up. Its really not." Stiles' jaw clicks as he slams it shut. "Just let me- just let me say my piece, alright?" When Stiles nods, Derek takes a breath to begin again. "I need you, Stiles. You were spouting off this nonsense about not fitting, and you not being a werewolf, and that I didn't need you anymore. But, Stiles," Derek steps forward, caging the teen against the wall, "You're the most important part of the pack. You are the most important person in my life, okay?"

Derek spins, raking fingers through his hair.

"You- you're the one that brought the pack together. You're the one who got me to renovate the house. The reason I'm a good alpha? Because you taught me how to be." Derek whips back around to glower at Stiles. The boy looks surprised more than anything, and maybe a little in awe. Derek meets his eyes, but only momentarily. It's easier to say all this when he can't watch Stiles' face.

"If I had to choose between saving you and the rest of the pack- I'd- I'd save you every time." And if that doesn't make a low pit of shame burn in Derek's stomach. He continues to stare intently at his feet, internally flinching at the way Stiles' pulse has jumped. "For you to think I don't care about you? It's..." Derek brings his eyes up to the teen's knee-level and sighs. "I trust you. And you're my best friend. And I would die for you in a heartbeat."

Nothing. Silence. Derek spends a moment listening to Stiles' heartbeat, but when the teen makes no move towards Derek or to say something Derek forces himself to nod sharply, and turn on his heel.

"I just had to tell you that."

A hand fists in his shirt, and forces Derek back around.

He opens his mouth in surprise, and Stiles takes the opportunity.

It's like their first kiss, but not quite. It's still rough and hot, but under it all is a vein of tenderness. It's the same warm you feel after being outside in the cold and drinking hot chocolate. It feels like coming home and like lazy mornings never leaving the bed.

It's almost embarrassing how quickly Derek kisses back.

This time, the werewolf is fully aware when his palm curls around Stiles' jaw, pressing him into the kiss. Derek delights in the way Stiles shivers when he smooths a thumb over one of the teen's cheekbones. He could crow at the way Stiles presses closer when Derek strokes a hand down his spine. And the sound he makes when Derek snakes his hand up beneath Stiles' tee? Derek doesn't have to share that noise with anybody.

Derek can't help his own moan when Stiles tangles a hand in his hair and tugs. From what Derek knows, this is only Stiles' third or fourth kiss. It doesn't surprise him that Stiles is a quick learner.

Derek doesn't have time to be surprised at anything when Stiles shoves him roughly back into the wall. The brutality steals another groan from his mouth, and when Stiles does his best to climb Derek like a tree? He can only oblige.

It's unbelievably hot when Stiles wraps his legs around Derek's waist. He gets a knee to the side for his trouble and the wall probably gets a new dent, but it's worth it for the way Stiles giggles, and let's Derek switch their positions so he's supported by the wall, and it's Derek dominating the kiss. Stiles doesn't object. Unless you count a nip to Derek's bottom lip, but Derek hardly finds that a punishment.

He chases Stiles' tongue back into his mouth. The moan Derek gets in response to a brief fight for control is worth readjusting for the inch that Stiles slides down the wall. Reluctance oozes off the teen when Derek separates their mouths. Stiles' protest is cut off by his abrupt moan when Derek catches the skin of Stiles' collarbone in his teeth.

"Der'k. De-"

The hand in his hair tightens almost unbearably, but Derek doesn't stop sucking. Stiles tastes of sweat and teenage boy and, inexplicably, chocolate. It's become Derek's favorite taste already. He's chosen a good spot, easily hidden under a t-shirt, and Stiles is gasping frantically by the time Derek tears his mouth away. He lets Stiles' legs slip from around his waist, but doesn't let go completely. Laying one hand over Stiles' chest so his thumb rests on the brand new hickey, Derek buries his face where the boy's neck meets shoulder. He sighs softly.

"Derek?" Stiles manages. His voice is rough and it makes something in Derek want to throw him down and have him right there. Both of them are hard enough. Instead, Derek releases another shaky sigh and wraps his other arm around Stiles' waist.

"Slow." Derek mumbles.

"Uh, what? I didn't hear you there dude." Stiles hitches on the last breath, when Derek softly nuzzles into his throat's vibration. The hard swallow is delectable.

"Slow." This time Stiles hears him.

"Slow? Slow what? I'm slow? No offense Derek, but it totally ruins the mood when you call me slow right after my first hickey. I thought I was doing pretty well too, unless you make those sounds for just anybody-" Derek drags his hand away from the hickey to slap it across Stiles' mouth. His resolve almost falters when he feels a tongue drag along the lines of his palm. It takes several stuttering breaths before Derek is back under control enough to lift his hand and his head and meet Stiles in the eyes.

They're still breathing the same air, hardly a spare centimeter of space between them. And Stiles, Stiles looks debauched. If his lips were red before, that's nothing on what they are now, and his hair looks even more disheveled. Stiles' face and neck are raw from stubble burn, and Derek makes a mental note to stay clean shaven from this point forward. Stiles deserves to be comfortable after all.

Stiles' pupils are dilated so far that not even a smidgen of brown is visible. It sends a shiver through Derek to look into those dark eyes and not jump the teen. He settles for leaning his forehead against Stiles'. And for a quick press of lips against the teen's nose to watch him go cross-eyed. Oh, look! The urge to have hot wild sex with Stiles? It's been replaced with the urge to cuddle him to death. It derails him for a minute, before he forces his brain back on track.

"If we're going to do this, Stiles, we have to take it slow." Oops. Derek didn't mean for that much reluctance to seep into his voice.

"Der-ek!" Stiles whines. He forms his blood-red lips into a pout. Derek no longer has to resist the urge to kiss it away, so he doesn't.

By the time he pulls back, Stiles has been effectively shut up, and Derek quickly continues while he has the chance. One half of his brain is still busy exclaiming over getting to touch Stiles!, but the other half knows this conversation is important. Derek does his best to focus on anything except the weight in his arms.

"You're underage." At the immediate scowl, Derek shakes his head. "You know I don't think you're immature, Stiles. It's not an insult." He can't help but scrub a hand through Stiles' hair. It's soft, sifts through his fingers like silk. It doesn't hurt the way Stiles' eyes flutter shut and he looks like he's barely holding back a moan. Derek bites his lip to stop himself from leaning forward and taking.

"I just- I just want to do this right, Stiles. I want you to know that you're important to me." Derek gulps air. "I want to take you on dates, and walk you to your door. I want to make out with you in the back of the movie theater. I want to curl up with you and look at the stars. I want your dad to approve of me, and I want to make you smile everyday. I want you to have everything I didn't get to."

Stiles shoots him a soft smile.

"We've been going steady for months, dude. We meet up and talk every night. You rebuilt your house because I suggested it. Hell, you rebuilt your pack and gave me a family. I'm not saying we drop everything and have hot, wild, amazing, sweaty sex," Derek has to shake the teen when he trails off, drooling. Stiles shoots Derek a sheepish smile. "But I don't need to be shown that you care for me." Stiles has the audacity to reach up and flick Derek on the tip of his nose. It's by an extreme force of will that the werewolf doesn't go cross-eyed trying to see. "Now that I'm not busy being an oblivious idiot, it's sort-of obvious." Something in Derek softens a bit. But still, he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't stress his point.

"I can't- I can't be your Kate, Stiles." And that- that was not what Derek was planning to have come out of his mouth. It's the root of his fears sure, but not something he meant to wield. Certainly not something he likes to think about.

It's true though. Derek hopes he's nothing like Kate Argent, hopes he could never hurt Stiles like she hurt him. But, Derek is older, and experienced, and Stiles is just a sixteen year-old high school student. Derek remembers that age, and as much as Stiles is nothing like he was, nowhere near as innocent and gullible, he can remember what it felt like to be in love. How it felt like his world was centered on one single person. How it felt to be constantly on the verge of crashing, crashing and burning.

He can't do that Stiles.

Something in the boy's expression softens even further, and while this isn't the first time he's talked about Kate with Stiles, it still feels like baring his soul, exposing his deepest, darkest secrets. And Stiles, because he's spontaneous and confusing no matter how long (a seriously long time- trust Derek on this) Derek spends thinking about him, Stiles flies forward and wraps his arms around the older man and squeezes.

It takes a minute, a minute where Derek is stiff with tension, before he slumps and relaxes into the teen. His walls can't stand up to Stiles, haven't been able to for a while. They stand like that for hours, for years, for lifetimes.

Derek doesn't know what he's doing. He knows he doesn't want to hurt Stiles, knows that he wants the teen forever. It will be rough, he knows, it will be painful and scary and hard. There's still the Sheriff, Scott, and the future to worry about. They'll fight and they won't get along, and people will try to pull them apart. But they'll still get those moments where its just them, and when Derek feels complete and happy like he never thought he'd get. Who cares if there are tears? Who cares if it hurts?

They'll do it together. Always together.

That night, Derek finds Stiles in the woods. The boy is sitting where Derek found him that first night in early spring.

He's different now, they're different now. It's not just that the air is warmer, or that Stiles lacks the bruises from Gerard. Derek thinks they're better now as a whole. Derek never expected to have a friend, to have boy he thinks he might love. Stiles has told him that he never thought that he'd feel safe again, and yet here they are.

Stiles tilts his head to glance at Derek, exposing a long, pale expanse of neck. He grins.

Derek can't stop the answering smile, or the peck on the nose that makes Stiles go cross-eyed.

"So I met this guy, who I really, really like, and who I think really likes me too." Derek's smile widens. "And even though we've been dancing around each other for months, he wants to take me to a movie, really date me, you know? So, there's a new Batman movie coming out next Friday, so I was thinking we could go see that, even if the idiot is a Marvel fan. What do you think, Derek?"

Derek grins shamelessly.

"I think that sounds great."


End file.
